like a familiar smile
stained on my mind
While Fyre does not have the wherewithal to hold back supernatural pain that his son does, the stallion does manage to keep the furious screams he wants to expel tight in his lungs. There are countless pieces of magic running cold, unforgiving nails across his brain, but he will be damned before he loses his wit in front of a pretty woman—even if that woman’s entire life wants to rip his own to shreds.
He manages a half-assed smile when she responds, mismatched eyes glittering with the vitriol he wishes to spit. For a moment, he thinks that this perfectly white mare must know what look in his eye means, and he feels the cutting edge of embarrassment—which only serves to strengthen the poison that building in the back of his throat. These memories and impulses he cannot control are weighing heavily on his arrogance.
Clearly, he is not a man of patience—or fortitude, for that matter.
“Ryatah . . . at least the names are of the same vein as my old home. Pretty name. Suits you.” This he punctuates with a disingenuous grin that all too quickly turns into a hardened line. “Whatever the hell kind of magic—” he stops then rolls his eyes to the sky, thinking for only a second. “It’s infected me. I can see things from the past.” He laughs, then spits, “I sound fuckin’ crazy. Say that to someone in the nation I belonged to before, and they’d probably just put you out of your misery.”
He is rambling, but mostly he does not notice.
“I’m Fyre, by the way.” At least he is able to preserve that sane response.
@[Ryatah]